


Hatch, match, dispatch

by captainofthegreenpeas



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Drabble, F/M, Fluff, Gallows humour, Light mycroft holmes, Molly is a midwife, Mycroft is a gentleman, Mycroft is an undertaker, i would like to take a moment to apologise for uncle rudy's terrible sense of humour, mentions of stillbirth, no blood or gore anywhere, no depiction of actual childbirth, please forgive me i know 0 about either midwifery or undertaking, this is rushed i am sorry i wrote it in like 1 hour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 05:22:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29130231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainofthegreenpeas/pseuds/captainofthegreenpeas
Summary: Mycroft is an undertaker, Molly is a midwife. Their lives are completely separate, until one day they aren't.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Molly Hooper
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	Hatch, match, dispatch

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eliza_doolittlethings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eliza_doolittlethings/gifts).



The nature of a catastrophe, Molly observed, is that it requires a series of unlikely disasters to happen, aligned like stars into the exact sequence. Take the RMS Titanic: the catastrophe was not simply that the iceberg was spotted too late. The catastrophe was that the ship tried to turn, to get out of the way of the iceberg, and the bottom sliced along the side of the ship, cutting through the watertight compartments. Had the Titanic collided head on with the iceberg, the watertight compartments at the front of the ship would have filled with water, been sealed off, and the ship would have stayed afloat.

The first disaster was that Molly's car broke down on her way to the house of the expectant mother, Meena Graham. The second disaster was that her mobile phone and wallet were nowhere to be fond. The third disaster was that Meena's house was where buses were most infrequent.

Molly buried her head in her hands, clutching her hair, weeping tears of fear and frustration. That her incompetence would cost her job was the least of her worries. Meena was young, mildly agoraphobic, and she'd never given birth before. She trusted Molly, she needed Molly.

After a few seconds of hyperventilating, Molly remembered her father's advice. "Do something. Even if it fails, the act of doing something will give you enough sense of control to calm you down and help you work your way out." Molly got out of the car and looked at the engine, filling with fresh panic at the sight of the state of it. She'd never fix that by herself. Molly marched up the road instead. Serial killer or no serial killer, she'd take a risk and hitchhike. After a dozen paces she realised that in her panic she'd left her hold-all in the car, so she went back and fetched it.

A large sign caught her eye: Holmes & Son, the local undertaker's. Screwing her courage to the sticking place, Molly ran inside.

"You have to help me!" She shouted. "It's an emergency, I can't get a taxi, I beg you, for the sake of an unborn child, please help me get a lift!"

The receptionist, Anthea by her name tag, lifted an eyebrow. She was on the phone. Molly heard the sound of an office door opening. She turned, to stare up into the gaunt, pale face of a tall and ominous figure.

"Apologies for the disturbance, Mr Holmes," Anthea said, covering the mouth of the receiver.

"I'm so sorry," Molly said, turning so red in the face she looked like she was giving birth herself. "Believe me, I'd never do this if it weren't an emergency, but I've got to get to Appledore Farmhouse to deliver a baby, and my car's broken down and I've no phone and no money. Please, let me know if anyone here can give me a lift, and you can name your price."

"That won't be necessary."

Molly's face fell.

"I will drive you there myself."

* * *

"I have one small concern," Mr Holmes remarked as they stopped at a red light. "Your expectant mother might get the wrong impression when you arrive at her driveway...in a hearse."

"I'll do my best to reassure her. I can't believe I was so stupid... this has never happened in all my years of being a midwife."

"These things happen, but one mistake always requires the right successors in order for a catastrophe to happen. Be so kind as to pass me a mint from the glove compartment."

"Trust me, I'm so grateful for this I'd agree if you asked me to feed you grapes while you reclined on a sofa like an emperor."

He chuckled. "I must say, as an undertaker, I'm not used to rushing. In our line of business, things are seldom as urgent as they are in yours."

"And quieter, I imagine."

"Usually, yes. But mourners are like lovers, my Uncle Rudy liked to say. Some of them are quiet...some of them are loud."

Moly blushed.

* * *

The hearse arrived in good time, and her mysterious chauffeur sat in the kitchen, typing out emails quietly on his phone, while Molly worked her magic. She was surprised to see him there all those hours later.

"Oh, I thought you'd gone."

"I was able to manage things from here. Besides, we need to see you safely home. You're far too tired to walk."

"Meena and I can't thank you enough. She's tempted to name her baby after you."

"Mycroft, I'm afraid."

"Oh no, that's a lovely name. Unusual."

"Family tradition."

"There must be some way I can repay you," Molly said, when they were back at her house. She thought of sending flowers, but in his profession he was probably sick to death of them.

"There is one thing I would like to ask," Mycroft paused. "One of my clients- who will remain nameless unless you both agree- had a stillbirth a few days before we hosted her mother's funeral. The whole ordeal was very distressing, and I suspect she does not have the understanding and support she needs, among her social circle. It would be a great comfort if you could give her the benefit of your knowledge and your compassion."

Molly agreed and gave him her number.

"I would also like a cup of coffee."

"I can't offer anything stronger," Molly joked with just a drop of flirtation. "It wouldn't do for you to crash the hearse."

* * *

The catastrophe never repeated itself- Molly practically chained her mobile and wallet to her hold-all- but she repeated cups of coffee with Mycroft, and was glad their paths had crossed (literally). Coffee became dinner, and dinner became dancing, and dancing became telling their friends the strange story of the day she stormed into his life. Molly found herself thinking that just as extraordinary catastrophes can happen when disasters align, so too can extraordinary blessings.


End file.
